


Missing Moments - Blindspot Season One

by IndelibleEvidence



Category: Blindspot
Genre: Blindspot Episode Tags, Blindspot Season 1, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2019-10-29 21:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndelibleEvidence/pseuds/IndelibleEvidence
Summary: A collection of episode tags and canon-fixes for season one of Blindspot. Each chapter is a new fic, and none of these fics will be getting a continuing second chapter. Most, if not all, entries here will be Jeller.





	1. Emotional Baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeller, set around episode 1x08-ish. This is basically me taking a metaphor and running with it for a few too many paragraphs.

"Wow, I wish someone would erase _my_ memory. There are so many embarrassing and painful things I'd love to forget, and so many regrets I wish I didn't have. Can you imagine? She must have no emotional baggage at _all_."

It was something Jane had overheard one of the SIOC admin pool members say, a week or so into her case. Jane had made sure she stayed well out of sight until the speaker had passed by, then retreated to the locker room to take a moment, stunned at how little thought the woman had put into her situation.

Of course, Jane had hardly any memories of her past, and when she'd woken up in Times Square, she'd had none at all. But that didn't mean she was carefree. She had emotional baggage of her own, and it had been thrown out of a white van with her unconscious body already crammed inside it. Once her body had crawled out, the confusion and the horror and the violation took its place, because her mind had only been blank until she'd woken up. Since then, it had been filled with questions, and with each new skill remembered—languages, combat moves, how to fly a damn helicopter—those questions had become darker and more ominous.

Where she had once asked who she was, she now wondered what she had done in her past life. Her initial question of 'where did I come from?'had become 'why did they send me here?' She had gone from desperately wanting to regain her memories, to being uncertain the answers would provide her with any kind of peace.

Her emotional baggage was unconventional compared to most people's, but it was heavy, and it felt as though the seams would tear at any moment, leaving her sitting on the sidewalk with the ruins of her mind spread around her.

But when she did end up that way, Kurt was always there, setting down his own baggage beside hers. Opening it up and rearranging what was inside, making room for all of her broken pieces—the questions, the bewilderment, the violent impulses—and fitting them in amongst his. And when he'd carefully packed her ugliest, least palatable shards into his own bag, he would stand up, sling it over his shoulder, and offer her his hand to pull her back to her feet. Carrying them both until she could make a stronger bag to replace the one that had broken.

He wouldn't let her take a turn at carrying his burden. Sometimes she'd try, and he'd let it slip halfway off his shoulder before shrugging it back on again. Occasionally, when the strap was fraying from the combined weight of his issues and hers, he would allow her to stop them both so she could patch it up a little, but that was as much help as he'd accept.

At least, for now.

Maybe it was easier to have baggage filled with questions and creeping, dread-filled suspicions. Maybe, compared to the bad decisions and hurtful memories the admin worker was carting around, Jane's emotional baggage weighed nothing. She guessed she'd never know. She only had her own meagre memories to draw on.


	2. Patterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeller, set early-ish season one, because I miss that cute yet awkward vibe they had back then!

Jane opened her eyes and glanced across at the driver's seat to find Kurt sneaking a look at her, a slight smile on his face.

"What?" she asked, feeling a little self-conscious, but also more warm and fuzzy than she probably should.

"Just wondering if you realise that whenever you really get into a song on the radio, it's always angry rock and pop music from the late nineties or early 2000s? Especially if they're female vocalists."

Jane blinked. "Ummm… No. I hadn't noticed."

"Well, now you know."

She'd been riding along in his passenger seat ever since she'd arrived at the NYO, a month ago, and he usually let her control the radio. She guessed it made sense that he'd notice.

"I was in my late teens and early twenties around then. You don't love music from around that time in your life more than stuff you've heard since?"

Kurt thought about it. "Not really. Sure, there's a nostalgia value, but you get that with every time period in your life. Since you don't remember anything from back then, it kind of stood out to me, that's all."

Jane sighed. "So all we really know about me is that I was an Alanis Morrissette-loving Navy SEAL before my memory was wiped. Well, _that's_ progress."

"Hey, it might not be useful, but at least it's something. Maybe when the ZIP wears off a little more, those songs will start to trigger real memories."

"Yeah," Jane said softly, nodding. "Thanks."

After a few moments of her watching him, he glanced over again. "Now it's my turn to ask what _you're_ thinking."

Jane shrugged and smiled. "Just wondering what else you might have noticed about me that I don't know about myself, that's all."

Kurt opened his mouth and shut it again. After a moment, he shook his head, seeming amused. "What, you want me to make you a list?"

Was he blushing, or was the sunset just colouring his face a little? Come to think of it, her own face was feeling a little warm.

"No, I just… It hadn't occurred to me that I'd have reactions to things and not notice a pattern, is all."

"I can't think of anything else like that, but if anything jumps out at me, I'll tell you."

They drove on quietly into the setting sun.


	3. Unidentified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane-centric tag to 1x01 - just a look into her mind as she's trying to figure out her situation.

She's so tired. If she's ever been this tired before, she doesn't remember it. But then, she doesn't remember anything, does she? Not even her name.

They say she was drugged; that the drugs are what made her forget. Maybe they're what's causing her weariness, too.

She's been fingerprinted, photographed, and every inch of her newly tattooed body has been scanned. She stares at the hexagonal design on the back of her hand and answers endless questions posed by the polygraph technician, all with the same answer.

"I don't know."

She doesn't know her name, where she's from, who the damn president is, for God's sake. She has nothing to cling to, and though she only remembers the past few hours, since she first crawled out of a bag at gunpoint without a stitch of clothing on, she's already so far past done with all of this.

She gets the feeling they'll continue to 'process' her and study her like a lab specimen for as long as they'll let her. She's not even a human being to them; just a puzzle to solve.

_No more._ From deep within, the need to assert herself bubbles up.

"I want to speak to someone in charge," she demands, stripping away the polygraph sensors.

The man in the other chair protests, but she's so frustrated by now, it overwhelms her stunned fatigue.

"I want to speak to someone in charge!"

The more forceful assertion clears him out fast. Belatedly, she realises it would have been smart to ask for a lawyer. Does she have a lawyer? She guesses it doesn't matter.

They're referring to her as Jane Doe. A standard name, in law enforcement circles, given to any unidentified female subject.

Jane Doe is as good a name as any. At least it sounds like it belongs to a person. Is she even a person if she doesn't have any memories?

She sits alone in the interrogation room, too numb from the shock of it all to really break down. _Just get through this._

_And then what? You don't know where you live. You have nowhere to go. What comes after this?_

Before she can really begin to consider that question, the door opens and a man steps through. Tall, brunette, wearing a dark grey suit and a serious expression, he could have been intimidating if not for the guarded compassion on his face. As it is, she feels inexplicably drawn to him. Safe, for some instinctive reason that has no logical basis.

Suddenly, Jane Doe isn't tired at all.


	4. Discovery and Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeller tag to 1x01, written for the prompt 'Kurt stays to help Jane figure out what food she likes'.

“Goodnight, ma’am.”

“Will you stay? Just for a little while?”

Kurt stopped short at the pleading in the mystery woman’s voice. He’d been so close to making his escape from the safehouse, and from the awkward conversation, but how could he ignore such a plaintive cry for help?

The interrogation room was safe territory— _don’t think about her hand on your face, her gaze so intensely examining you—_ but the safehouse was completely different. There was no one watching from the other side of the one-way glass. Despite the agents on protective detail outside the house, he and this Jane Doe were completely alone.

And she would be completely alone once he left her here. Not just alone in the house, but alone in the world. Alone with her thoughts, her fears, her questions…

He turned to face her again, trying not to seem as though he was floundering in unfamiliar waters. He should just bid her goodnight again and walk out, but he didn’t have that kind of cruelty in him, not when she looked so lost.

“You could recommend some things I could order to eat, maybe.” Then her gaze dropped to the floor, and she shook her head slightly. “But I guess you have your own life to get back to. Never mind. I’m sorry I asked.”

It would be inappropriate for him to stay. It would cross the boundary between professional and unprofessional conduct. But she had no life, no memories—not even of what she liked to eat.

What was that like?

“You should get going,” she said softly, dispiritedly.

It would have been like kicking a puppy to leave her.

“Give me a few minutes,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

Surprise lit up those big, expressive eyes. “I, uh… Okay.”

He went outside and across the street, to the unmarked vehicle belonging to Jane Doe’s protective detail. Dubanowski and Brown were both great junior agents, and they were used to protective duty at this stage of their careers—as tedious as it could sometimes be, they rarely complained.

“Hey, Weller,” Brown said. “Heading home for the night?”

Kurt sighed. “That was the plan, but our mystery woman doesn’t even remember what she likes to eat, and she doesn’t wanna be alone in a strange place right away. I dunno, it just doesn’t feel right to leave her there two minutes after dropping her off. You guys wanna come in and eat with us? We’re probably gonna order from three or four different takeout places.”

The two agents exchanged a glance. If they were surprised by his decision to indulge their Jane Doe, it was too dark in the interior of the car to tell.

“Sounds good, but Mayfair will tear strips off our asses if someone starts lurking outside while we’re inside eating takeout. You’re gonna have to handle this one alone, Weller. Sorry.” Dubanowski shrugged apologetically.

“Good luck in there,” Brown added, probably sensing his discomfort.

At least no one would be gossiping about impropriety. He’d invited the other agents in, and they’d seen how uncomfortable the idea of sticking around made him. His ass was covered.

And it wasn’t like it would be a candlelit dinner.

Where had _that_ thought come from? It wasn’t like she’d propositioned him, or flirted, or said anything that could be interpreted as having subtext.

Again, he felt the sensory memory of her touch skimming down his face, and he shut his thoughts down, hard.

When he returned to the safehouse, their Jane Doe had switched on some lamps and killed the harsh overhead lighting. It made the room seem more welcoming, but also uncomfortably intimate.

She was sitting on the very edge of the couch, still as tense as she’d been the first time he’d walked into the interrogation room, her tattooed arms wrapped around her midsection. As he entered the room, she flinched a little and looked up, her eyes startled.

“It’s okay. It’s just me. I was just letting the agents outside know that I wouldn’t be leaving just yet, and to expect delivery people.”

Acting on a hunch, he went into the kitchen and started opening drawers and cupboards. As well as basic kitchen utensils, he found a stack of takeout menus and leafed through them, discounting the ones he knew had bad hygiene ratings or poor quality food. His neighbourhood wasn’t too far from here—within easy walking distance, actually­—so there was some overlap, and he ended up with a few menus from takeout places he regularly ordered from.

He’d kind of been in the mood for Chinese food, but the only Chinese menu was for a place that had recently been closed down, so he left it where it was and took the others.

When he offered the menus to the nameless woman, she thanked him with a quick, forced smile. He couldn’t blame her for not being able to summon any genuine enthusiasm for food. This situation must be hell for her.

“So, uh, what would you recommend?” she asked, examining the photographs on the menus.

Dismissing the urge to point out that the pictures wouldn’t be an accurate representation of the food that actually arrived—he didn’t want to patronise her—Kurt shrugged and indicated the menu for Dosa Mahal, the Indian restaurant a block away from his own apartment. “Personally, I’ll probably get some Indian. You can try some of mine, but a lot of Indian food’s heavily spiced, and not to everyone’s taste, so I’d recommend you maybe pick something else for your first night.”

She nodded, studying the pizza place’s menu. “What’s Italian food like?”

How could he explain to someone who didn’t have any frame of reference? “I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like pizza.”

She pointed at a picture of a Hawaiian pizza. “That looks like it might taste good.”

He stifled a smile at the idea that he’d be able to introduce her to the contentious ‘does pineapple belong on pizza?’ debate. “I’ll put it on the list.”

By the time they were done, she’d selected the pizza, a mild Thai noodle dish and—after a brief moment of indecision about whether to go for Greek or Japanese—a mixed platter of sushi. She’d probably be eating leftovers for the rest of the week, assuming she liked what she’d chosen.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom while he ordered from the four restaurants—Indian, Italian, Japanese and Thai. Just as he finished up, trying not to think about how he’d explain the huge fast food bill to Mayfair in his expense report, their Jane Doe returned to the room, looking a little haunted.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, wondering if she’d seen something from one of the upstairs windows, or remembered something that might give them a clue as to her identity.

She sighed. “I was just…looking at some of the tattoos again. I don’t understand this whole thing. Who would do this to someone else?”

“We’ll figure it out. It’s just gonna take some time.”

She nodded, looking around the room a little uncertainly. “I don’t remember much, but if this is my place, I get the sense that I’m supposed to offer you a drink or something. Not that I know what kind of drinks I can even offer you. Just water, probably.”

“I’ll grab some when the food comes. It’s okay—you can sit down.”

She sat on the other edge of the couch, staying upright for a moment, then leaning back a little uneasily, as though getting comfortable was a strange concept for her.

“Thank you. For staying, I mean. I know you probably have a family to get home to, or a partner, or something.”

He smiled a little. “Just my sister and nephew. They’re used to me not being around much, so don’t worry about that.”

She nodded, but didn’t seem to know what else to say.

He wasn’t a master of small talk himself, but he found himself wanting to put her at ease, so he continued, “It’s only temporary—my sister living with me, I mean. She just got out of a bad relationship and needed somewhere to stay, and I had the space, so…”

“What’s it like? Living with your sister?”

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “A lot like living with her when we were kids. Only now she has a kid of her own.” _And we don’t have to tiptoe around to avoid pissing off Dad._

“I wonder if I have any brothers or sisters,” she said, almost to herself.

“If you do, I’m sure they’ll recognise you from your picture on TV, or in the papers. Someone’s gotta come forward. No one in this world is completely isolated.”

“I hope you’re right. I’m guessing you’ve never worked a case like mine before?”

_Definitely not one where my name is tattooed on the victim’s back._

“Not specifically like yours,” he said, “but there are common elements. We assume you must have been taken from somewhere, before they put the tattoos on you and wiped your memory. Kidnap cases come through the Bureau a lot. And cases where the perpetrator leaves clues for the investigation team, too. That seems to be the case with you, with the tattoos.”

“So you know where to start looking for answers?”

_Now that we’ve lost the van that dropped you in Times Square? Not a damn clue, unless we can figure out the tattoos._

“We’re following a few leads.”

She leaned forward, her expression urgent. “Well, maybe if you tell me everything you have, I can help. It might help me get a memory back, or…”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to throw theories at you before we have anything concrete. It might confuse you, or build false memories that lead us in the wrong direction. The brain is a weird thing sometimes.”

She deflated a little. “I see.”

“What you can do,” he said, wanting to reassure her a little, “is work with Dr. Borden, the psychiatrist, to see if you can remember something. He’s gonna meet with you first thing in the morning.”

She nodded slowly. “The English guy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he good at what he does?”

“He only joined the FBI recently, and this case is the first one I’ve worked with him, but from what Mayfair—my boss—was saying, he comes very well recommended.” _Don’t ask me whether it will be enough to get around the ZIP in your system._

“Okay. I’ll do my best.” She gave him a determined look. It gave him the feeling that underneath the understandable vulnerability, she had a steel spine.

Hell, he’d already deduced that from the video footage of the polygraph test they’d given her. With no idea of the answers to any of the questions she’d been posed in the interrogation room, she’d still managed to assert herself, demanding to speak to someone in charge—to him.

The first in the procession of delivery people arrived, and within ten minutes they’d moved into the dining room, realising that there was too much food for the coffee table to hold. They sat across from each other, myriad takeout cartons spread out between them.

“Thank you so much for all of this. I don’t know how I’m gonna pay you back, but eventually, when I find out who I am, I assume I have a bank account with at least a little money in it…”

He smiled, transferring prawn biryani from a carton onto one of the plates he’d found in the kitchen. “The FBI is covering your living expenses while we’re working your case. Including food costs. You don’t have to worry, ma’am.”

“Okay. That’s a relief.”

He almost mentioned that medical costs would also be covered, but if she didn’t remember how expensive hospital bills could get, he wasn’t about to remind her. Some forms of ignorance could still be bliss for her, despite how desperately she wanted to regain her memories.

She looked up from her plate—she seemed to have been enjoying her first few bites of pizza, pineapple and all—and frowned a little. “I wish you wouldn’t call me _ma’am._ It seems pretty formal. I know I don’t have a name right now, but…”

“What would you prefer?”

She shrugged. “I heard some of the other agents referring to me as ‘a Jane Doe’. From the context, I’m assuming that means someone whose identity you don’t know?”

“Yeah. John Doe for men. Jane for women.”

With a sad shrug, she said, “Then I guess you might as well call me Jane.”

“We’re gonna find out who you are. But for now, Jane it is.”

“Thank you, Special Agent Weller.”

It was an effort not to invite her to call him by his first name. Kurt concentrated on his meal.

After a couple of minutes, as Jane tentatively tried some Thai noodles—using chopsticks with confidence, he noted with interest—he asked, “What’s the verdict on the food?”

She finished chewing and swallowing before replying, “All good. It’s a little weird mixing all the different styles, but it all tastes fine.”

That was another thing to add to the list of things they knew about Jane. She’d used chopsticks before; she wasn’t a picky eater; she had no problem making her wishes known, despite stressful circumstances… _Shame not one of those things will help us track down her identity._

She was eyeing his plate curiously, so he pushed it towards her. “I did promise you could try some of mine.”

“Only if you really don’t mind.”

At his silent encouragement, she used the chopsticks to grab a little biryani—now that was a strange melding of cultures—and took a taste. Her eyes fell closed as she appreciatively chewed and swallowed. “Now _that_ is amazing.”

Her enjoyment was so obvious that he found himself grabbing a slice of pizza, abandoning the Indian dish. “We can switch.”

She hesitated. “Are you sure?”

The pizza tasted a little odd now that his palate was expecting biryani, but he’d deal with it. “Go ahead.” _God knows she deserves a little pleasure in her life—if a life is even what she has right now._

A couple of slices of pizza later, Jane had consumed the rest of the biryani, and Kurt sensed it was a good time to take his leave. “I’m gonna leave you to it for now. Just make sure you get everything else into the fridge once it’s gone cold. You probably don’t remember having food poisoning, but trust me, it’s not something you want to try if you can help it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.” She stood up when he did, and the awkwardness between them, which had faded a little during the meal, returned full-force. “I guess I’ll see you at some point tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Your detail will drive you in tomorrow, and we’ll talk after your session with Dr. Borden.”

She gave a quick nod, but again, didn’t quite manage a smile. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you then.”

He made it to the door unchallenged this time, and turned to see her standing in the middle of the living room, hugging her abdomen again, looking ridiculously small and vulnerable. It would have been unprofessional to give her a hug, but the urge rose within him and he had to ignore it.

“Goodnight, Jane.”

“Goodnight.”

He gave her a quick nod, and left before his empathy for her plight could overwhelm his common sense.

She had to get used to living by herself for now, and it wasn’t his responsibility to hold her hand. He was an agent, not her nanny. But still, he couldn’t help but feel guilty as he drove away.

_Damn it, Weller, you should have just left her to eat alone. Getting too close to a victim is a bad idea._

_Even if she does have your name tattooed on her back._


	5. Kisses and Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is kind of a weird little fic, because let's face it - having someone you've thought of as a missing sister for most of your life come back to you, and suddenly having to deal with the fact that you find her extremely attractive, has got to be a little uncomfortable. Even if you're not actually related (leaving aside that Jane isn't actually Taylor, because neither of them know). So I apologise in advance if anyone reads this and is disappointed at where it ends up.

Kissing Jane Doe wasn’t how Kurt had expected his evening to end up, and there were a million reasons why he should be stepping back right now. She was a co-worker. She was the victim of a crime he couldn’t even begin to fathom the motives for, one he was supposed to be investigating as impartially as possible. She was Taylor Shaw, his childhood friend, whom he’d thought of as a lost sibling for the twenty-five years she’d been missing.

But he couldn’t bring himself to care about any of those things right now. She was here, her arms wrapped around his neck, her body heat seeping into the front of his shirt as their lips met over and over. She consumed his every thought, his every breath. And he just couldn’t stop kissing her, despite knowing that he should.

“Get a room!” a croaky, irritated voice called from across the street.

Kurt would have ignored it, but Jane broke free of their kiss with a soft, embarrassed laugh. Reluctantly, he loosened his one-armed grip on her waist, turning to see an elderly woman scowling at them from the opposite sidewalk. Before he or Jane could say anything, she rolled her eyes and moved on, muttering something to herself.

Now the spell was well and truly broken, Kurt looked down at Jane’s amused face, trying to scrape together the scattered fragments of his brain.

“I guess that told us,” she said, her contralto voice holding laughter and a hint of uncertainty.

“Guess so.” He found himself returning her soft smile, fighting the urge to pull her into another kiss as her gaze flicked down to his lips for an instant. Clearing his throat a little, he eased out of her embrace so he could think. “I, uh… Do you wanna come in for a while? I’m flying solo tonight—Sarah has a date and Sawyer’s at his dad’s for the weekend.”

Jane’s eyebrows lifted a little, and he belatedly realised how his words could be interpreted, hurrying to correct himself. “I think we need to…talk about this. Sort out some things.”

“Yeah, sure. I mean, as long as I’m not interrupting any of your plans for the evening.”

Was it his imagination, or did she seem disappointed by his attempt to clarify that he wasn’t trying to get her into bed?

 _Don’t think about trying to get Jane into bed._ The idea was both the most appealing thing he could think of, and the most taboo.

He switched the grocery bag he’d been holding this whole time from one hand to the other, flexing the stiff fingers he’d freed up. “You’re not interrupting. Come on up.”

Jane stepped through the door he held open for her, and they stood waiting for the elevator to arrive, the awkwardness between them palpable. Wanting to reassure her, Kurt reached over to brush his hand against hers, and she shot him a quick, shy smile as she laced her fingers through his.

The elevator was mercifully empty; small talk with any of his neighbours at that moment would have been torturous. During the ride up, Kurt watched the lights indicating each floor, and wondered what the hell he was going to say to Jane when they got inside the apartment. He was known on the job for his quick thinking, but he had a proud history of screwing up his personal life, including with women.

Messing things up with Jane wasn’t an option he was willing to contemplate. Not now, with her standing so close to him, their hands joined, the memory of her kiss making his lips tingle.

“So, do you know who Sarah’s dating? Is he a good guy?” Jane asked, breaking the silence as the elevator began to slow.

“No idea. As her big brother, I try to stay out of that part of her life, until it gets serious enough that she wants me to meet him. At the moment, she’s staying over at his place a couple of times a week, but she’s not referring to him by name. She smiles when she talks about this guy, though, so I guess that’s a good sign.”

Jane followed him down the hall to his apartment, and he reluctantly dropped her hand to find his keys and unlock the door.

“And when you meet the men she’s serious about, you get to play the protective big brother?” she asked.

Kurt shrugged, closing the door behind them, then putting the grocery bag down on the breakfast bar. “I might frown a little. Look vaguely intimidating.”

“Ah, the interrogation room attitude,” Jane said, a teasing lilt in her tone.

Kurt knew he should be putting some of the groceries into the refrigerator, but he couldn’t stop himself from approaching Jane instead. She tilted back her head as he stepped in closer, her face filling with anticipation as she registered his intentions.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” she murmured, sliding her arms around his neck for the second time that night.

“And we will. But first, I just want to…” He kissed her again, both arms wrapping around her now that he no longer held the grocery bag.

Jane made a soft, appreciative noise and stretched up onto her toes to meet his lips, a subtle shiver running through her body. As he had outside, Kurt lost himself, nothing else mattering to him except their embrace. Their kisses began slow, an unhurried exploration of barely-charted territory, then deepened as they tasted one another. He didn’t know which of them quickened the pace, but as his pulse beat harder and his body began to anticipate more, he made himself break away.

Jane was just as breathless as he was, her eyes heavy-lidded as she gazed up into his face. Could she tell how deep his craving for her ran? Was that why she’d come here tonight, because he’d given himself away, and she’d been sure of her welcome?

She broke their eye contact, stepping back. “We should…probably talk, while I still remember how,” she said, and Kurt couldn’t help a surge of relief that she seemed just as affected by their kisses as he was.

He nodded, brushing his hand against her arm on his way back to the kitchen. “Did you eat dinner? I already did, but if you’re hungry…”

“No, I’m good. I mean, I ate earlier.” Watching him unpack the food he’d bought, Jane stopped where the kitchen tiles began, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Do you want a hand putting anything away?”

“Nope. Almost done.” He transferred the few perishables he’d bought to the refrigerator, then the rest to the cupboard, wanting to finish the meaningless chore so he could focus on her. “You want a drink?”

Once they were seated on the couch, each with a beer in hand, Kurt reached out for Jane’s hand. “You took me by surprise tonight,” he said, starting with an undeniable truth.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I guess I kind of ambushed you. I wasn’t expecting you to walk up, though, in my defence. I thought you were in here already.” She was sitting in a fairly relaxed position, but Kurt could sense her nervousness. “I was, um, thinking. About whether it was a good idea to come up here and see you.”

The idea that she might have decided against it and returned to her safehouse, without him being any the wiser, made him frown. “If I hadn’t found you out there, would you have come up?”

“Honestly?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I was trying to talk myself out of it, I guess. But when I saw you, I made up my mind.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She searched his face, as though doubting the truth of his words. “If I’d been thinking properly, I would have asked before I kissed you. But I didn’t know how to put it into words, and you were angry that I’d ditched my detail, and I guess I panicked.”

Kurt grinned. “In that case, I like the way you panic.”

She laughed, some of her tension easing. “Part of me thought I was imagining it. That you felt the same way. When we were undercover and we were dancing, and…”

He shook his head immediately. “Just in case you’re still on the fence about that? No. You weren’t imagining it.”

Jane smiled against the lip of her beer bottle before taking a sip. “Good.”

Kurt pulled her closer, the memories of their dancing tempting him too much to ignore the impulse. She met his kiss halfway, leaning against his chest, and he tried to think past the instinct to pull her into his lap.

Talking. They were supposed to be talking. And there was too much to figure out for him to postpone that, especially since they had to work tomorrow.

As though coming to the same conclusion, Jane put her hand to his chest and pushed gently, sitting up. “As much as I want to keep doing that, we still need to talk.”

“I know.” He brushed a brief kiss over her temple, then leaned away enough that he could think. “This is a complicated situation.”

“That’s partly what I was thinking about, out there.” Jane sighed. “If Mayfair is already questioning your objectivity, do you think she’ll take my case away from you?”

He wished he could give her a definite answer. “Maybe.”

“I don’t want to work with another team, Kurt. I know you guys—at least as well as I know anyone—and I trust you all. And I think we work well together.”

“I don’t want to give up your case, either. You were meant for me—for me to investigate your case,” he amended, hoping his words weren’t verging on creepy. “Why else tattoo my name on your back?”

If Jane had noticed his  accidentally intense choice of wording, she didn’t give any outward sign of it. “Unless it was meant to be a clue to point to me being Taylor Shaw. But I agree. What if you need to be the one investigating, for some of the tattoos to make sense?”

He’d had the same thought a few times, as he’d stared at the pictures of the tattoo of his name, trying to puzzle things out. “But that probably won’t convince Mayfair to keep me working on this, not on its own. And if she decides to reassign my team, I won’t be able to watch your back in the field.”

Jane frowned at him. “You say that like I can’t hold my own. I’m more concerned that I won’t be able to watch _your_ back.”

Kurt shifted uncomfortably. Giving insights into how his mind worked wasn’t really his style, but having Jane misunderstand his reluctance to leave her to another team was worse. “It’s not that. I know that you’re capable, Jane. More than capable. But I…” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he continued. “I already failed to protect you once, and you were abducted. I can’t…I can’t let that happen again. I need to be there, I just… I _need_ that.”

Jane was quiet, and he looked up to find sympathy and compassion in her eyes. “Kurt,” she murmured, reaching out to rest her palm over his heart.

Instantly, he flashed back to the first night things had gotten truly complicated between them, as she’d confessed that he, not her identity as Taylor Shaw, was the starting point she chose to build from. He’d left her safehouse abruptly that night, half afraid that he might give in to the urge to kiss her, and half disgusted at himself that he felt this way about Taylor, whom he’d always thought of as an honorary sister.

That same unease came back to him now, despite the fact that he’d already given in to temptation. He rested his hand over hers for a few moments, but then let go, picking up his beer and taking a drink.

“I don’t want to lose the case,” he said, trying to move on from the emotional moment, “but after tonight, going back to the way things were, just being friends…” He hesitated, conscious that he couldn’t make this decision alone. “I could do it, but it would be hard.”

“I don’t want that, either,” Jane said quietly. “So I guess that means the safest way to handle this would be to keep it a secret. From the team. Right?”

Kurt nodded, a twinge of guilt running through him at the agreement. But he could also see the sense in what she was suggesting. “It feels wrong to hide it, but given the alternatives…”

“Yeah. And if it’s only until the case is solved, it’ll give us a little extra motivation to figure things out.” Resignation and sadness crossed her face, but only for a moment. Then she set down her bottle, watching him.

“If we’re going to have a secret relationship, I want you to drop my detail.”

The refusal was already halfway formed on his tongue when she added, “They’re not exactly doing any good sitting outside an empty safehouse. And you know I can hold my own if I need to defend myself. Didn’t you just say I’m more than capable?”

Kurt sighed. “I just want you safe, Jane.”

“And I want to be able to kiss you without some poor agents being at risk of losing their jobs, because I outsmarted them to come see you.” She returned his frown with one of her own. “Please, Kurt. You know you’re being overprotective. I used to be military, remember?”

The fight drained out of him, her determination and logical argument winning him over. “We’ll bring it up with Mayfair. But I need you to be careful.”

Her face brightened, and his mood along with it. “Thank you.”

_God, she’s beautiful._

He set aside his beer. “So… do you think we’ve talked enough for now?”

She leaned towards him, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes making his heart skip. “I was kind of hoping so…?”

Kurt pulled her onto his lap as her lips came down against his. The hunger in her kiss made him groan softly, even as part of his mind still insisted that kissing Taylor was wrong, and that kissing Jane while she had so little else in her life was taking advantage of her, even if he was completely sure she’d insist otherwise if he brought it up. He buried his hands in her hair and ignored the thoughts, a jolt of pleasure running through him as she shifted a little, the outer side of her upper thigh brushing his rapidly hardening cock.

_Fuck, Jane…_

Time blurred into nothing but pure sensation, his palms slipping up the back of Jane’s shirt to press against her warm, tattooed skin. She broke their kiss with a breathless sigh, and Kurt immediately trailed his lips down her jaw, nuzzling and kissing the bird tattoo on the side of her neck.

Jane gasped his name, tilting her head to allow him more access, pressing her thighs together as though it would ease her desire. His pants were already uncomfortably tight, her reactions turning him on just as much as her kisses. She brought his hand up to her breast, inviting him to touch her through her clothing, and he caught her lips again as she arched into his hand.

_No. This is screwed up. You have to stop._

Again, he attempted to ignore the uneasy part of his mind, teasing Jane’s nipple through the fabric that separated them. Jane broke free of their kiss to pull off her shirt, and he immediately traced his fingers over her newly revealed tattoos, the way he’d always longed to. Her sports bra still covered a lot of her chest, and he longed to pull it up over her head, but the unease at the edge of his consciousness stilled his hands before he could follow the impulse.

She pulled back at his hesitation, her expression watchful and a little troubled, as though she sensed his inner turmoil. “Kurt?”

He closed his eyes, unable to believe he was about to say the words he was planning. “I think we should slow down a little.”

He caught a glimpse of humiliation on Jane’s face, before she hid the emotion. “Okay.” She transferred her weight from his lap to the couch cushion beside him, reaching for her shirt. “I’m sorry if I was coming on too strong. I don’t remember ever doing this before, so—”

“Jane.” He cut across her apology, unable to bear the idea that she’d think herself too eager, or assume that she wanted him far more than he wanted her. “It’s not that.”

Gently, he took the shirt from her grip and tossed it aside, then wrapped his arms around her. Jane melted against him, despite her embarrassment, and another surge of guilt hit him.

“It’s not that I don’t want you. I just…” Again, the sickeningly vulnerable feeling that he was revealing too much came over him. He pushed it back, knowing it wouldn’t be fair to Jane if he let her believe she was the problem. “I’ve spent the whole time, since you first came back, telling myself that you’re off limits. First because of the case, and working with you. The conflict of interest between what I want and what’s acceptable to the FBI. And then, because you’re Taylor.”

Jane lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him, confusion clear on her face. “Why would that make me off limits?”

He took a breath, trying to order his thoughts so that his words wouldn’t hurt her. “When we were kids, I thought of you as my other little sister. After you were taken, that didn’t change, for twenty-five years. I got used to it, thinking of you on the same level as I thought of Sarah. But then you came back, and…everything changed.”

Jane was nodding slowly, and he caught a flicker of anxiety in her eyes. “I, uh, never thought of you like a brother. I tried to, when you first told me I’m Taylor, but it never worked.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry about that,” he teased gently, and was rewarded by her smile.

After a moment, he continued, “I don’t think of you, Jane Doe, like a sister. I never have. But that’s where things get a little weird, because I also know that you’re Taylor. And in my mind, Taylor _is_ my sister. So I guess I just need a little time to remind myself that you never were, and that wanting you isn’t something I have to be ashamed of.”

“Okay.” She was still regarding him with trepidation. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

He shook his head. “Just…don’t take it personally. This is all on me. But that part of my brain that tells me I can’t, I shouldn’t, I have to stop… When we do this, I want it to agree with the rest of me. That I can, I should, and there’s nothing wrong with doing what we want to do.”

Jane cupped his face in her hand, her touch reassuring. “I want you to feel that way, too.”

He turned his head, kissing her palm, then said, “Actually, there is one thing you can do.”

“Okay, just tell me what you need.” She was watching him so seriously that his heart swelled with emotion. _Jane… You really are something special._

“Well…” He pulled her back into his lap, smiling up at her. “If I’m gonna get used to the idea that you’re not off limits, I need to persuade my brain that you think it’s okay, too. So every now and then, we’re gonna have to make out. I’m sorry.”

Jane’s earnest intensity melted away as she laughed. “Somehow I’m gonna have to endure that, huh?”

“Mmm…” He pulled her head down, and their lips met in a slow, longing kiss. “I’ll be very grateful, and when the time comes that I can thank you properly…”

She covered his mouth with her hand, rolling her eyes. “Don’t tease, Kurt.”

“I won’t.” He gave her another brief kiss. “At least, not until I plan to do something about it.”

A quiver ran through her, her imagination taking her somewhere he desperately wished he could follow. “You’re a bad man, Weller.”

Her kiss cut off the response he was about to give, and he immersed himself in her embrace, still unable to believe she was here with him. He had a feeling it wouldn’t take too many of these ‘therapy sessions’ to resolve the conflict in his mind.


End file.
